


Good Morning, G'raha Tia

by ninnie_eats_chips



Series: Asymmetry [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Tragedy, Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Developing Friendships, Dialogue Heavy, Doomed Timelines, Eighth Umbral Calamity, F/M, Feelings, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, OC's get a lot of air time, POV G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Swearing, WoL is heavily mentioned, interpretations of canon events, some referenced romantic moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninnie_eats_chips/pseuds/ninnie_eats_chips
Summary: ‘This is my destiny. Here, and now. This, I have accepted.’He squeezed his eyes shut.Though, how easy it would have been to lie down again and nap. And it would still feel like he was going to wake up in his old tent, none the worse for wear.[Believing to have followed the bright star of the Warrior of Light, G'raha Tia awakens to a new world filled with change... but slowly finds out it is not at all the future he envisioned.]
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch & Biggs III, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch & Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: Asymmetry [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539757
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Good Morning, G'raha Tia

**Author's Note:**

> I'd planned to write a fic for G'raha's awakening for SO long. I thought about the details for a long time while writing my main fic and I intended to finish that first, but since I couldn't, there was no way I could let this one escape before 5.3 came out. I feel like if I didn't get it out of my system before that, I might never, lol. I just.... didn't expect to write an 11k with it. Oops. Beware of VERY dialogue heavy!
> 
> So yeah, this fits into universe with my Crystal Memories fic and includes my specific WoL. You don't need to have read that fic (although I would appreciate it!), it just adds flavor about my WoL. And as mentioned in tags, there are a couple of OC's I made for this fic that play a large role so if you aren't keen on that then ??
> 
> I don't usually write fics this long so there are bound to be mistakes! But I tried to do my homework too. ;o;

The first thing G’raha remembered after waking up, after feeling twitched in his fingers and the first chill ran through his body—was the sensation of warm hands gently rocking him awake.

Memory was relative. He stirred somewhat, but he was hardly awake yet. Where he sat upright, head hanging limp, G’raha leaned into those hands chasing warmth. Sounds echoed dull in the back of his head. As it turned out, recovering from stasis wasn’t something that could happen instantly. It would take time. He was being dragged from the deepest depths of the void, slowly but surely becoming a man again, rather than something that simply leeched off of the tower, sustained by more aether than breath.

He was hazy, cold, delirious even. When the mystery person spoke to him, it was no more than muffled noise, vaguely identifiable as female. G’raha was almost certain he had only moaned back.

Muddled among echoes of Allagans’ past, there was one idea he clung to that rang relatively clear; that the voice was _her._ That the gentle hands upon his shoulders and cheeks were _her._

 _She_ had come to wake him, after all.

A smile teased the corners of his lips as he exerted what little stamina he had in his body to lean forward and into the Warrior of Light. He said her name weakly into her bosom, strands of hair brushing his face. The scent of an unfamiliar new perfume rushed his nostrils. The sensations were all too much, being awake again. Being _alive._

He passed out again, safe in this knowledge; that he was in the arms of someone he adored.

* * *

G’raha drifted in and out, floating among a sea of waking dreams. His slumber inside the tower had been a dreamless one. Truly, he awoke from death, feeling tingling its way back into chilled limbs that laid flat at his sides, not unlike a corpse. He stayed still like this while memories of a past life confronted him one after another.

 _Were they his?_ No… Not all of them, at least. Some were Salina’s. Ancient memories wandering the halls of fallen Allagan monuments, and each twist and turn inside Syrcus like the back of his hand. Like he could readily map it as if he had actually _had_ the opportunity to explore every cranny himself. A phantom touch on his fingertips, holding tomes he had never owned in his lifetime...

Those weren’t his.

G’raha swallowed, his throat bone dry after being abed for so long, and reached for more familiar moments. Things he had definitely done, things he had _felt._

This was how he remained for an unknown length of time. Sifting through memories and dreams. Or, more accurately, _living in them._ Like they were here and now.

_G’raha headed up to the second floor of Rowena’s House of Splendors, and there over the ledge overlooking the marketplace at Revenant’s Toll, the Miqo’te dangled his legs and observed the people down below. After a shuffle, he looked to his left and Lilium was there beside him._

_Oh, Lily…_

_She would talk about her adventures to him for hours. He never tired of it._

_Like the first day they had met, they had a snack of skewers when they grew hungry. Lilium poked him in the arm with her stick when he said something silly and dramatic, with the notion that she would make a face at him (and she did). G’raha curled and flicked his tail at hers every now and then and pretended not to notice._

_When they eventually left their spot, the Raen’s hand was in his own. A most gentlemanly gesture with hidden desires behind it._

_**Selfish. Asinine.** _

_And yet, even despite, the vaunted Warrior of Light; his comrade, his **friend** —never once pushed him away._

_He never deserved that._

_..._

The voices of other people outside his room turned his ears. Strained themselves for bits and pieces of the conversation that disturbed his rest.

_“... Really the one? I can’t hardly believe ...“_

_“... Said her name when he woke. We can ill afford any doubt ...”_

_“... Still incredible, that someone who slept for two centuries could still be so bloody tired ...”_

_‘Two centuries.’_ Those words grounded him. Anchored him to the present. G’raha curled his fingers and toes to encourage blood flow in his limbs so he could eventually get up. While a part of him still felt as if he had only just laid his head down yesterday, the lingering fatigue in his body strongly argued the case.

Though G’raha didn’t know whether or not what he heard was a mere exaggeration, he faced one simple truth: The Warrior of Light would be long gone by now. His memories of that time would be no more than memories.

The Miqo’te’s ears slowly pressed back against the soft pillow.

He said to himself he could face the possibility in all its likelihood, and he would. In his waking stupor, he remembered expending himself to utter “Lilium,” and those who were talking seemed to be familiar.

That gave G’raha hope; hope that she prospered. Hope that there really were books upon books of her exploits left behind as he had somewhat half-heartedly remarked. And he hoped that she had found peace and happiness at the end of her tale.

_But… if there was still a chance...._

His ears returned to their normal axis, then perked when he began to recall even more his moment of waking.

_‘It felt as though she awakened me… And if not, then… whom?’_

He was cold even under his blankets and reluctant to move, but more than anything, G’raha had burning questions that needed answering. The Twelve would know how long he had wasted in bed. Days, even? He grunted as he sat up and the heavy blanket slid from his chest and exposed him to the chill air of the room. Making gradual movements, slowly outstretching his tail and arms in front of him in a catlike motion. He knew naught about his surroundings or where he was (besides that it was darker than pitch), but he had to _quit this room._

He got his legs over the side of the bed and realized he was barefoot, plus stripped of what extra layers of clothing offered him protection. He tested his feet on the shockingly cold stone, and that was as far as he got before the click of heeled boots approached, and the door opened and blinded him with light.

G’raha yelped and winced hard, and he could hear the person who’d presumably come to rouse him gasp upon entering.

“W-who?” Was all he could manage at the time while he tried to peek through the curtain of his fingers. But they were quick to interrupt with a shout into the hallway.

“He’s awake! G’raha Tia is awake! Notify the chief!”

The same feminine voice as before? And they knew _his name._ But… that wasn’t Lily’s voice. He’d recognize hers, somewhat airy and sweet. This one was reminiscent, but a little more mature.

With stinging eyes, the woman began to take shape, features hardening before him. Eventually his eyes had adjusted well enough to where he could identify the gawping intruder as Elezen.

“Who- who are you?” G’raha forced this time.

The Elezen stood stiff with her mouth hanging open for a moment. When he realized she was definitely aware he entertained the idea of getting up, She slowly raised a hand. She then looked back into the hallway as if she was waiting for someone. Like she was waiting for _reinforcements._

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.” She tried to reassure, instead of answering the question. “Your name is G’raha, correct? I didn’t expect you to wake so soon, after—Pray, s-stay put just a moment…”

He merely braced his hands on the edge of the mattress. He didn’t think he warranted the way her hands signaled him to _stay,_ like he was a captive. Much less that it reminded him of different times. She must have had good reason to keep him here. Unless...

Was he a _prisoner?_

The woman’s odd behavior was sounding the alarum in his head. He was partially stripped. No shoes laying around. Aetherometer confiscated. Come to think of it, he had no idea where his bow was and couldn’t see it around even with the harsh unnatural lighting that spilled into the room. The one surface he could see; a small bedside table (that looked like it had been used to death in a past life), had nothing on it.

Where in the seven hells was he? The only thing that seemed familiar was the cobblestone brick walls, and the flooring that was electrically cold under his toes. _Revenant’s Toll, even?_ That would make sense. It wasn’t too far from the tower. But why would they take him away? Why capture him and not question him there?

G’raha wasn’t too worried about the tower itself, at least. Assuming this was really the future it was destined for, its facilities could be researched from dawn until dusk—but no one could control it save him.

But he chanced a guess he wasn’t doing himself any favors not answering himself.

“Yes,” He finally told her, even if only to stop her from looking at him so strangely. He cleared his throat, willing himself to speak more through the dryness.

“I-I am G’raha Tia. And who is asking, if I may?”

She looked a tad bit less nervous then, but still took pause to process what he had said. She swept her strawberry-blonde hair back from her eyes and moved no closer.

“Yolanda. Yolanda Deaupame.” She swallowed thickly. G’raha thought perhaps she might offer something more in return than just her name, but was only set at further unease by the next words that tumbled from her lips.

“Oh Gods, it’s all true as they say, then… Then, we’ve really...“

Before he had the opportunity to pry any further, a dark-haired and ashy-skinned Miqo’te appeared unceremoniously in the doorway. Presumably to gawp at him as well, as that was the first thing he did before even deciding to consort with his friend. G’raha stared back up at him from the bed with a crack between his lips. Doubtless they would even let him have a word edgewise. They must have had as many questions as he did, if not more.

“Well, what did he say?” Yolanda finally asked him.

“He said bring him through, if he’s ready.” The Miqo’te paused, then went back to looking him over, leaning on the doorframe.

“Damn, it really is like those old papers said! Well, not that they ever let me look at ‘em. But still. To think we toiled our arses off for decades for this pitiful Sun-Seeker. You don’t look so special.”

“Mhara!”

He stopped then, with the aid of a slight nudge at his arm. G’raha cleared his throat again and the pair’s heads snapped toward him.

“My apologies… if I’m not exactly what you expected.” There was a small _“hmph”_ from the other Miqo’te. “But please do not argue on my account. I am… sure you must be aware that I know not where—or _when,_ I am.” He coughed at the tickle in his throat, and then watched as the hard line of Yolanda’s brow softened. G’raha forced a smile at her.

“And, I would be happy to field your questions, however—Ahem. I could probably do with a glass of water before I speak to your ‘chief.’”

“Of course.”

The Miqo’te called Mhara made a noise of discontent, drawing a more ireful look from Yolanda.

“Already making demands. _Tch,_ he’s just like Biggs.” He stood up straight and backed slowly away into the hallway. ”I don’t like him. He can carry his own damned self to the boardroom.”

G’raha’s ear flicked at the unexpected name; one he hadn’t expected to hear again. Each moment, he was more and more curious about the world he had awakened to… and doubly more confused. He hardly registered Yolanda’s frosty exchanges with Mhara while he was holding up his head in his hands, heavy with speculation.

“You can be so heartless,” She muttered. Perhaps finally recovered from her own bit of shock, her tall shadow gradually grew closer to him until G’raha noticed her a couple fulms away. He was almost embarrassed at the noise of surprise he made.

Up close, the Elezen looked like she probably wasn’t more than a few years his senior. Yet there was an air of maturity about her, and a purity in her green eyes that he decided to trust for now.

“I apologize for him.” She said, kneeling down to eye level. “That was J’mhara. He has had a rough time these past few weeks. The past year, truthfully.”

“‘Tis fine, but- Ah! Your uniform!” A second scan-over after he finished rubbing his eye, and the colors that Yolanda wore finally registered; a white vest with a blue-sleeved shirt underneath. Through and through, it looked like a slightly updated version of the Ironworks uniform, save for a more stylish pair of boots that she wore with it. Those didn’t look like something a typical engineer would be toiling about in. The only other thing missing was the signature gear-shaped patch.

“And did I hear you correctly? You just said ‘Biggs’?” Her eyes widened, and then she nodded.

“Both of these ring some bells for you, do they?” Once again, there was some hesitation to answer, but she had to have noticed the raise in his tone. His heart was beginning to pound faster, but he wasn’t sure whether that was due to excitement, or fear, or both.

And of course he couldn’t help but think of _her._ But he had to be patient.

“I’m sorry. I understand this might be strange for you, but I fear I’m not at liberty to answer your questions, yet.”

“I see.” G’raha lowered his head, but Yolanda stayed put a moment more, looking him over with an examining eye.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what my boss is thinking, summoning you like that… I have suitable training as a nurse, by the way. I have a little authority around here. So if you think you need some more rest, I can speak to him.”

“No, no. Please, that is alright! I have rested more than enough,” G’raha reassured, watching the Elezen get up from one knee and rise again to her full height. “I wish to stretch my legs. And more than anything, I would know what has become of this world while I was away. What great strides humanity must have made.”

The gentle smile faded from her lips as he said that, replaced by a look of worry, lingering after he had pushed up onto his feet for the first time.

“A-ah, okay. I will grab the rest of your belongings. I’ll just be a moment-” She moved rather quickly all of the sudden, then left and popped her head back in while he stretched holding onto the bed frame.

“A word of caution: pray, do not wander too much.”

* * *

G’raha heeded Yolanda’s words, only going up and down the bleak, stony hallway lit with artificial lights connected by wiring leading somewhere downstairs. As much as he was tempted to take a peek into one of the other rooms, he practiced restraint. He was still fairly certain he was a prisoner, or something close to one—and that the extent to which he was allowed to roam was already at the limit of his new associate’s “authority.” He only hoped that those who were keeping watch over him were doing so more out of necessity, and not hoping to use his ability to control the tower for their own gain.

He would practice due caution around these people, as they did around him so far. Whether or not their uniform was Ironworks, he had yet to actually meet anyone he would recognize, suggesting that he really _had_ come a long way.

When Yolanda came back up from downstairs, G’raha was waiting patiently on a lone chair against the wall that was left out, likely where one or more were keeping watch of his quarters while he slept. When she said “here,” and handed him his few effects (including his missing boots), and his bow and quiver weren’t counted among them, G’raha felt even more in the right to be silent. And when he regarded her with a watchful eye, it seemed she knew exactly what that was about.

He was but an infant, detached at long last from the womb.

“I hope you understand that I can’t give you back your bow, right now,” She said rather lowly. And from the way she said it, he began to doubt that _she_ even knew where it was. “Regrettably, I don’t have it,” She confirmed to his surprise. “But I’m confident it’ll be returned to you once you hear us out. We’ve been-”

Yolanda’s voice caught in her throat a moment. She was being careful with her own words for one reason or another.

“...Waiting a long time to hear from the keeper of the Crystal Tower.”

G’raha nodded in understanding, wondering again _just how long,_ when she handed him some sort of fabric that had been slung over her arm.

“What’s this?” He unfolded it, and upon closer inspection, it was a long, thick cloak that was just about the right size for him. Maybe only a few ilms larger than ideal.

“Just in case you get too cold. It can get a little brisk around here, especially at night.”

 _‘Just like back then,’_ G’raha thought to himself, and he struggled to push back a flood of memories. Of nights spent around the campfire cuddling into a chocobo’s feathers, and of a certain woman who complained of the cold even when her cheeks were rosy with mead...

He held it up to himself as he stood and gave Yolanda one last look to check if it was okay, before she nodded and he began to pull it over his head. It came down right above his ankles, the sleeves covering his wrists and blocking out the draft that seemed to wander up the hall from the stairs. The hood even had proper accommodation for his ears, if he would choose to cover himself.

G’raha wiggled his ears with satisfaction once he’d gotten his head comfortably through the hole.

“Well, this is much better! Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Yolanda turned and sighed, ready to lead him away. This time, G’raha bit his lip and bid her to “wait.” She did wait, cocking her head to the side while he worked up the nerve to try and ask one more question.

“Yes?”

“Yolanda. Are you... the one from inside the tower? Are you the one who first stirred me?” There was an awkward air between them for a moment, where the woman seemed to ponder what he was getting at. She opened her mouth for a long while, then pushed her hair back, the telling curl of her brow half-answering the question for him. It seemed his memory was not _too_ cloudy, not to remember leaning into someone’s chest.

“You were expecting someone different,” She said. A blush crept across his face, along with the apologetic look he offered back. “Yes, that was me. I apologize for the disappointment. As I mentioned, I am first and foremost a medic. I was asked to examine your state as soon as we reached you.”

In that moment, G’raha inhaled deeply, and tried to let go of the lingering desire to see Lilium again. To tell her that he made it.

“You need not apologize... I just needed to ask that for myself. So thank you for answering honestly-” He coughed again. That dreaded frog wasn’t going to get any better if he talked himself hoarse before they even made it to their meeting.

“Come, G’raha. Let’s get you some water before we sit down. I anticipate we’ll have much to catch up on.”

He gave a curt nod, then began following her down the hall.

At least in a place so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, it seemed there was one he could keep at arm’s length for the time being.

* * *

G’raha was kept waiting longer yet in the boardroom, in a chair pulled up to a long metal table with a row of seats on each side. While he could eventually hear muffled voices down the hall, he couldn’t make heads nor tails of a word they were saying this time. He disliked the secrecy of it all, and much less that that man, J’mhara, was left to lean against the wall with his arms crossed and bore holes into the back of his head at all times.

What an odd, wary man he was. Exhibiting such little wonder, ill-befitting someone in his position (what exactly _was_ his position?) Having all the opportunity to ask questions while they were alone, but having nothing more to say than to direct him to wait. Sometimes chewing on one of the leather cord necklaces he wore on the outside of his clothing.

As staggering and uncomfortable as the silence sometimes was, it afforded G’raha more time to examine his surroundings. To parse what was familiar, and what was not… and to decide whether he needed to tap a fight-or-flight response, should these people turn out to be foes touting his former comrades’ colors.

 _‘This is surely Revenant’s Toll,’_ G’raha thought over and over again while he looked around. Not that that was of much comfort, right now.

He recognized the style of architecture; rooms with high ceilings, arched doorways, and of course, the gray stone from wall-to-wall. It was akin to Rowena’s House of Splendors, which he hadn’t intimately explored, but had loitered in and around enough in recent memory that he could name it. Although the series of hallways and the room he emerged from made it look more like the traveler’s inn he’d never had the pleasure of staying at. It was just too large for that.

What was definitely different, though—shockingly so—was the amount of _technology._ No light was coming in from the outside with no windows in the room, so the lamp on the ceiling casted a harsh white light over the table. Like the lights strung along the halls, it too hung from a tangle of complex wiring that led away to who-knew-where. When G’raha looked to his left, discarded parts laid strewn next to a blackboard that was covered in mathematical scrawlings. It _looked_ like some person, or _persons,_ had made an attempt at the last minute to stack the parts, with some wirings hanging halfway out of a bin, but they didn’t quite finish the job. In the very corner of the room, some sort of machine hummed and glowed an angry red hue.

And there was _a node_ that floated into the room, on a route. They had one. A whole, functioning, churning, working _Allagan node!_ G’raha almost leapt from his seat when he saw it. There had been no such units left in the entire tower throughout the Warrior of Light’s ascension. He had only heard tales of working nodes with various programmable functions during his Sharlayan days. When G’raha reached into the recesses of his ancestor’s knowledge, he could almost touch one for himself, but it wasn’t the same. How _badly_ he wanted to operate it...

No, now wasn’t the time for that. The setting was too ominous, the air too stifled and stale to consider getting excited about such things. Certainly not with that other Miqo’te there. He’d only seen enough to know that he had a knife in his pocket. Or was very happy to see him, in spite of himself.

G’raha twiddled the pads of his fingers together and exhaled deeply through his nostrils. Yolanda’s words from upstairs were on his mind.

_'We’ve been waiting for a long time to hear from the keeper of the Crystal Tower.'_

He was only starting to make out something about the tower written on that blackboard when the door on the far end of the room creaked open and revealed a face so uncannily familiar that G’raha couldn’t help but eject from his seat this time.

“M-my—!” But he had yet to even address who had just walked in with his Elezen acquaintance before J’mhara’s boots scuffed up behind his chair at an alarming pace.

“I-I told you to stay put, will you?!” Hands on his shoulders threw his lethargic body back into his seat with such force that he thudded into it with an _“oof,”_ catching himself against the table to stop from reeling forward into it.

“Enough!”

Too shocked to even properly respond to being pushed, G’raha stared open-mouthed up at the Sea Wolf Roegadyn that dared to scold the younger man. In his peripheral vision, Yolanda had been about to leap from her own seat, either to accuse or to help.

“You have done your part, J’mhara, and for that I thank you.” He began. “But for the love of all that is yet sacred in this world, I would ask that you do _not_ break our guest on arrival.”

The tower keeper blinked a few times.

 _‘That voice…’_ He thought on it. It wasn’t how he remembered the Biggs he knew sounding. Though with the foggy state he was currently in, he had reasonable cause to doubt his memory. He could still be convinced he was living in another dream.

When the other Miqo’te huffed and finally returned back to his place at the wall, the Roegadyn craned his neck down at G’raha and took a long look at him. A small smile appeared on his lips.

G’raha angled his chin. There was doubt blooming within him.

“You wouldn’t perhaps be… the Biggs I know, would you?” He tried to clear the rasp that was really starting to bother him now.

“No. As I am sure you might have suspected by now, I am not.”

Yolanda, recovered from her indignation toward her friend, came by and set a glass of water down in front of him on the table, to which G’raha uttered a quiet word of thanks. For a moment he thought she might sit in the chair next to him, and was a little disappointed when she instead took a seat across from him. She was more of a comforting presence than any other so far, even with the deceivingly familiar face that looked over him now. This _other_ Biggs.

Actually, that was likely what was so disconcerting about it. That, and what felt like the perpetual calm before the storm.

G’raha‘s brows curled as he took a sip of water to soothe his throat.

The Roegadyn continued. “But that does not mean that you cannot still call me your comrade in arms. Yes, I believe we share the selfsame set of ideals. That is why you are here now, my friend.”

“And might I inquire what those ideals might be? Forgive me my forwardness, but you could say I am, er-” G’raha glanced back at J’mhara, who only tried to avert his gaze by sinking further into the wall and taking a sudden interest in the equations on the blackboard. “...Asking as someone who appears to be under very tight surveillance. If your mantra is still _‘freedom through technology,’_ I should be more glad to see your actions reflect that.”

“Ah, yes…” Heavy feet then circled around to the other side of the table.

Yolanda’s eyes from across the table were guilty. So guilty. He had to be wary of all this. They _knew_ that his blood ran just thick enough with the Royal line of Allag—and that he was separated from its full potential.

Perhaps they knew something else?

The man peered at him through his shades for a spell, jaw tight as he seemed to carefully consider his next choice of words, before he finally lowered himself into the chair next to his associate.

“Ever the sharp scholar you were described as... But of course, you have questions. Let’s start from the top, shall we?”

G’raha nodded as the man tapped a sizable finger on the table.

G’raha listened intently, taking in each bit of information bit by bit as it was presented. That this was _indeed_ Biggs; “ _third of his name,”_ and descendant of the man he once worked alongside.

That helped him feel less heavy in his seat.

Then Biggs confirmed that where he sat was the new base of operations for the Garlond Ironworks, and with the founder himself having passed several generations back, he had found himself the _eighteenth_ president of their organization. Their keep, located in the heart of Mor Dhona as G’raha had suspected. They hadn’t taken him far at all.

Biggs the Third was a much more serious man, he had noted. But equally as patient as the first. He took care in his words, as he likely did in his work— _not_ to give him whiplash with all of this information at once.

Or so it seemed. Even as he told the truth, it felt that there was much more to be said.

“It has been not one, but two _centuries_ since I first sealed the tower, then…” G’raha kept his knuckles to his lips as he tumbled through whirling thoughts.

 _‘What of The Warrior of Light? What became of Lily after last I saw her?’_ A part of him wanted to test with that information.

It took every fiber of his being not to ask. Of course she’d be… moved on. ‘Twas not the question he really wanted to ask. Not how or when she went, but how she _lived._

But fear of the former, and much more, kept him from going there.

G’raha did what he could to remain diplomatic in appearance, hoping his droopy set of ears didn’t give him away entirely.

That was; Unei and Doga, Salina and his ancestor did not pour the blessing of their royal blood down the line for him to squander it with unbecoming pouts and brooding. He was to carry forth a beacon of hope, and if the Ironworks of the future had labored for so long to reach him? Far be it from him to _behave_ like a captive. He would lend them his knowledge. As well as both hands, if they needed it. That was why he was here, wasn’t it? Yolanda had asked him to _“hear us out.”_

 _And it was what she would have done, too, wasn’t it?_ G’raha’s ears wiggled. It was more than a comforting idea, to live as the Warrior of Light herself did.

“Tell me,” G’raha urged, after a long pause.“Well... tell me- tell me _everything,_ my friend!”

The pair of heads in front of him perked up at the request.

“I would know something of this world ere I first set foot in it. I know it would be nigh impossible to cover everything in a few bells worth of conversation. Nevertheless, I am capable of… tolerating long bursts of information. But remain ignorant, I shall not—”

“H-hold on a moment, G’raha.” Biggs interrupted. It was then that G’raha realized he had been leaning forward further in his seat, sentence by sentence. He eased back to a relaxing position. He could never contain his excitement for knowledge, and now was absolutely no exception.

“There _is_ much and more to go over, yes—and rest assured we _will_ be thorough. But for now, I propose a break. Take some time to take in what I have told you. Have a meal and fill your stomach. You’ve spent the previous day lying limp as your vitals returned to normal, and who knows how many more hours tossing and turning when we previously checked on you.”

“Ah…”

When he thought about it—only _really_ thought about it, his stomach did feel on the empty side. To think he hadn’t had a meal in so long was almost unfathomable, however well the tower kept him sustained over the years. That he hadn’t emaciated in the slightest was another wonder yet to be explored.

G’raha could hear sighing and grumbling from behind him as the corner of the Roegadyn’s lip cracked into a forced-looking smile. Through the dark tint of his shades, he could’ve sworn he detected a bagginess under his eyes.

“We too, could do with a short reprieve.”

G’raha took pity and gave into a nod, not wont to push for more at the expense of others. He forced a smile of his own as Biggs stood with a grunt, the chair beneath him creaking slightly to be relieved of his bulk.

“Yes, very well. Thank you for allaying some of my concerns for the time being.”

On acknowledgement, Biggs traded some sort of look with his Elezen charge, and for half a moment G’raha feared that J’mhara would be sticking around too. But as Biggs left, so too did he, clapping a large supportive hand over the smaller’s shoulder as they filed out of the room. G’raha’s own shoulders relaxed while he watched them leave, and then he turned to see Yolanda who rustled as she leaned her long body over the table.

“You have a great thirst for learning, don’t you? Sort of like me.” She cupped her hands together.

He smiled a genuine smile this time, and answered, “I do.”

“Though I am no expert in the field of machina, while we are waiting on supper, perhaps I could tell you something of our efforts to open the Crystal Tower?”

* * *

For the second time, G’raha was alone in that bedroom. That room which, if he could even call it a bedroom, or a guest room—was uninviting. It made him feel nervous in a way he couldn’t entirely explain, like all eyes were upon him. Waiting for something. Watching. _Judging._

There was a lot he had yet to learn. Of that, he was absolutely certain. He’d be mad to believe he could unravel much of what Yolanda explained, her technical understanding impressive even for her claims not to be an expert. The amount of what he had to process already had been more than enough. Admittedly, he hadn’t been able to listen to all of it.

It was probably for the best that the food came out when it did.

G’raha sat there for a time at the edge of the bed, stirring the chunky bowl of stew in his lap round and round. He spent more time playing with his food than eating. He was hungry of course, but more than that, he was succumbing to the disturbing feeling of judgement. Especially with the harsh white light shedding over him wherever he went, showing just how drab the room was.

 _Did the people of the future all rely on such technology in the late hours?_ He wondered.

He felt bare, too; bare in this familiar yet unknown place. Like a stranger that would have to learn to speak the language. But mostly, G’raha was bare with his feelings in a way he had yet to confront.

On the way back to this room, he had passed a few more of the Ironworks members, who had all regarded him with stares and some whispers. And something else he had never been used to: the way they looked at him, almost… reverently.

Perhaps those were the eyes that had haunted him back here. Or was he feeling the eyes of those that once mocked him in adolescence? Or maybe his loved ones looking down upon him in his pitiful state... eating bland stew in this _cell_ , shoulder-to-ankle in garb that could be classified by any tailor as a glorified burlap sack. There was no cape on his back, not even figuratively.

_But those eyes in the hallways didn’t hate him, at least. More likely they lauded him, as the strange man with the strange eyes, who had come from the past._

There was a tingling feeling in his spine, at the thought. G’raha scratched the back of his neck where the seam of the hooded cowl met the rest of the fabric.

_‘This is my destiny. Here, and now. This, I have accepted.’_

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Though, how easy it would have been to lie down again and nap. And it would still feel like he was going to wake up in his old tent, none the worse for wear.

A few taps on the door sounded and startled him out of a new daydream.

“Ah, c-come in!” G’raha cleared his throat, checking first to see that he hadn’t made mess with his food.

“Only me, I’m afraid.”

It was Yolanda again. She gave a polite peek before entering, but this time she had something in her hands. G’raha had honed in on the small lockbox before registering her gentle smile turning to a frown at the sight of his unfinished supper.

“You still haven’t finished yet. I was sure you’d be famished.” He gave her an apologetic look.

Funny, that he felt the slightest hint of scorn in those words. There was something mother-like about her. Not that he would know.

“My apologies. ‘Tis of no insult to the chef.” A white lie.

He expected he would be doing a few more of those throughout his stay.

“But I will, yet. What have you there?”

The Elezen took his interest as a subtle invitation, and her boots clacked into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind her. She didn’t mean to stay, this time.

Slender fingers cradled the box like one would a newborn infant, and then she said, “Something for _you.”_

With wide eyes, G’raha leaned to the bedside table and sat his bowl aside.

“For me? What is it?”

For a moment he wondered if he should stand, as uncomfortable and possibly rude as it was to keep craning his neck up at this woman who was a full fulm taller, but she seemed to have no problem bringing herself to his level. To answer, Yolanda stooped down and clicked the wooden box open.

For the third time that evening, he struggled to compose himself.

There, safe inside the box, was a single yellowed envelope. It looked like just any old letter, but G’raha’s mouth hung wordlessly open at the sight of a red wax seal he’d seen only one other time in his life: _that of the Scions of The Seventh Dawn._

“But it couldn’t be...?” Eventually the words escaped from him, barely a whisper, though he hadn’t meant to at all. “You’re absolutely certain this is for me?” Yolanda only held out the box and its contents further, an insistent nod following.

“Addressed to one G’raha Tia, if you turn it over… Aside from that, I know not of the contents. The seal is unbroken. As was our vow to deliver it safely to you, once this small treasure came into the Ironworks’ possession. But it must have been penned with love to have made it so far. Go on~”

She pushed once more almost into his chest, with an amused chuckle at the expression he had before he finally reached out. G’raha hesitated once more.

“R-right now?”

“Considering how long it’s waited to fall into the recipient’s hands, I think now is as good a time as any, don’t you?” His ears sank low when she held it away from him for just another moment, like it was a tease, and inhaled sharply.

“And perhaps... consider it a symbol of trust between yourself and us?”

A swallow and a nod, and then trembling hands took the paper from the box. Frozen solid, he could do nothing but look at the seal for a long time, until Yolanda left the box at his side and turned toward the door.

“Ah, you’re leaving?”

She pushed her hair back, hand already at the doorknob. “As curious as I am, it’s not for my eyes. Though, if you wish to speak of it later, that’s your prerogative.”

One more measure of trust, the Miqo’te presumed. She bid him finish his meal in a half-stern manner, and then left him.

 _The gravity of that single paper was so powerful._ G’raha traced the seal with his finger, and it was almost like he could feel the weight of the hands that pressed it. Brittle wax molten and new again. He could scarce muster the strength to turn it upright and view the writing on the other side.

Surely enough was written _‘G’raha Tia,’_ in handwriting curly, a little feminine. It _looked_ like it could’ve been Lily’s. Hers was like this, though nondescript enough to mix up with plenty of women’s handwriting he had attended class with. He wished he would’ve looked just a tiny bit harder over her shoulder as she wrote.

His heart skipped a beat as he carefully broke the seal. _If it turned out not to be her, he would…_

_[‘Dear Raha,’]_

He read the very top line and slid onto the cold floor.

For the matter of his own trust towards these people—or lack thereof for himself—this was a chapter he wasn’t ready to close. Not yet… _Not yet._

* * *

When he finished eating, he was called back to that room. Simply called, not made to follow behind anyone this time. The Ironworks were letting him stretch his legs now in a more figurative sense. _“A symbol of trust.”_

G’raha patted the tiny bit of extra bulk that was under his vest.

He almost felt guilty that he had tucked the letter inside, wholly unread for now. Yet keeping it there offered some comfort. Some security. If he was ever feeling unsure, he could read it. Until then, he could keep the bygone days close to his heart.

He held his head up high as he descended the stairs and began the short trek back to the meeting room, giving the Allagan node a gentle pat on top of its dome when he passed it by. Its little blip of feedback, _acknowledging him,_ made his tail fluff with genuine satisfaction.

Better than entering a room and having all eyes on him.

Those of the same trio were on him when he entered, but he didn’t expect J’mhara to be the one to approach him.

“The letter,” The brunette started, ears perked and an insistent look on his face. It was then that G’raha truly registered the other Miqo’te’s round pupils paired with blunt fangs, contrary to that of a typical Seeker.

Though he was hesitant to come more than so many fulms closer to him. Like that trust didn’t fully extend to him.

“Yolanda gave it to you, didn’t she? And you saw what was in it?” There came a warning from Biggs not to pry, but J’mhara ignored it.

“Indeed.”

There was a long pause of quiet blinks and eventually a frustrated huff.

“And you’re not gonna tell us what was in the bloody thing, are you? After two-hundred years of playing postmoogle?”

G’raha’s brows furrowed. He didn’t sound so much angry this time as he did disappointed, when he got a read on him. Perhaps that was more accurately the emotion that the younger man had been carrying around with him. G’raha felt sympathy for him.

The other two exchanged looks with one another and then eyed him, as well. They had every right to wonder. And how could they not?

Even if he _did_ know the contents (which he didn’t), he was wont to share much, if anything. He recalled how Lily disapproved of him reading her journal. If she didn’t want to let him read that while she was present, he couldn’t see her happy to read aloud the letter she wrote for him.

There was also a part of him that decided he didn’t want anyone else to see it. A possessive side, unbecoming for the tower’s caretaker, maybe. But G’raha saw it fit to keep just a few things to himself, as he suspected the Ironworks still did.

“My apologies.” He offered instead, and left the brunette drooping, clenching his fists while G’raha pulled back his seat and sat down.

“Let’s get on with this, chief.”

G’raha took note of the shift in tone that was brought upon them when Biggs nodded, slow and stern. There was a bowing of heads, and Yolanda turned especially stiff in her seat.

Only Lilium had ever been so emotive. _If only he could read those bodies alone._

“Right. We are on borrowed time as it is, and now that you have some color in your cheeks, we shouldn’t waste any more of your time on pleasantries.”

As Biggs straightened up, so did he. Not that it did much to help the tension settling into his bones.

“G’raha.” He continued. “Earlier, you asked what of those ideals that we share?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sure you could imagine a few by association. For one, history tells that you dedicated your life to the pursuit of Allag, and that you chose to preserve it in the most unselfish of ways-”

A loud snort from behind.

“Allag is the birthplace of the artifacts which the collective of NOAH labored to unearth, and its technologies which we’ve strived to learn from for generations now. You can see it somewhat plainly looking around you, can’t you?”

G’raha was given pause as Biggs gestured broadly to their surroundings. He looked again at the humming light around them, whirring generators, and clinking, blipping node. To say nothing of the parts that had been shoved a little more into proper bins in the time that G’raha had eaten—that would look like a shrapnel pile to the average man of his time. To him, it was mildly unsettling in a way that the interior of the Crystal Tower was not.

“If you’re keen, you might also get a sense of the wrecked magitek machinery we salvaged from.”

The Miqo’te tilted his head, panned his ears.

That must have been it. Partially. Though his mind begged the question, _‘why salvaged and not made from scratch?’_ He hadn’t known Cid for long, but he had thought he would’ve been loath to sample from his former nationals. G’raha had seen the disdain he showed for Nero’s trinkets (maybe more of a personal thing). Not to mention he’d witnessed the first chief innovate more on a single morning coffee than some scholars had ever done in their lifetime.

“That fact: confidential, by the way. We’re not proud of it, but sometimes even pride must be disregarded for the greater good. But I digress.” A sharp inhale. G’raha leaned in at the odd choice of words.

There was something there.

“Yes, the greater good. Mainly, G’raha, I speak of salvation.”

“Salvation…?” Brows raised. He looked to each of them, and that strong look of _guilt_ was ever so present on the Elezen’s face as she opened her mouth, wanting to speak.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow. Pray, elaborate. Did- did something happen?”

There was a beat of silence.

“G’raha, there is…” The Elezen locked up. There was something that no one in this room was willing to say. G’raha’s heart was beginning to race.

There was something wrong here, altogether. Something _very wrong._

The point came where he could suffer their silence no longer.

“You say _‘salvation.’_ You speak of salvaging things like birds picking flesh from corpses. So much secrecy surrounds me, and the desperation in the air—I’ve felt it from the first but not been able to put my finger on it. You must tell me- did something _else_ happen… to threaten our star? Else that I wouldn’t know of during my time?”

When met with only more of the same, he felt a cold sweat and begged, _“Please._ If you ask my help, I can only give it if you tell me, but I must know—”

J’mhara cut him off when his palms laid into the table next to him.

“I’ll tell you in four words,” He began darkly, yet those ice-like eyes still managed to scald somehow. “The Eighth Umbral Calamity.”

It only took those four words to knock the wind from G’raha’s lungs. To sink his heart. He tried to echo them as if he hadn’t heard properly, because _he couldn’t have heard that properly. Could he?_

“The Eighth-” He gasped when J’mhara laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in a tight hold. His peers forewent any warnings toward him, this time.

“That’s why you’re here… ‘Cause, frankly, everything’s _fucked._ And somehow, _you_ were our. _Only. Hope.”_ He punctuated his words quietly, and then he let go and hung his head over the table in that same way that G’raha pitied before.

Except he could hardly focus on feelings such as pity right now.

G’raha, looking noticeably distressed, whipped back toward the other members, whose matching, mournful looks could only confirm what he’d heard.

“When?” He whispered, when he finally could. _“How?”_

“It- it was called Black Rose,” Yolanda spoke up. “Many years ago. A chemical weapon of sorts, deployed by Garlemald’s army toward the start of the war between themselves and unified Eorzea. It laid waste to a large percentage of the population back then, and it destroyed much of the landscape, including formerly sustainable resources. Crops. Water... It even tainted the aether in a way we have never been able to recover from. We’ve relied much on technological advancement to be able to see to your awakening. Otherwise, we would wither and die here in Mor Dhona: one of the epicenters of death and decay, along with the former city-states and our allies across the border.”

“We are not asking you to save the world.” Biggs added, before G’raha could get a word in. Before he could ask that very question, or demand to be allowed to see it for himself.

He was _helpless_ here.

“No. We all of us in front of you, I’m sorry to say, are beyond saving. It is simply too late.”

“Too late?”

With almost a sense of panic boiling inside his small frame, G’raha was allowed to rise up in his seat only to sink back down. He sat for a long moment with his hand over his mouth, letting the disbelief wash in and out of him. And then he raised his shaking voice.

“If everything is lost, then for what reason did you wake me? What can myself—even with my command of the Crystal Tower—do for a people that you claim are beyond saving...?”

Biggs stared him in the eyes through his lenses. He had a look that what he meant to convey was a game-changer. That G’raha would believe it, somehow. That he would have to _accept_ all of this to be true, and more.

“Not us.”

There was a pause where the Roegadyn signaled something to Yolanda and then she stood, walked over to one of the packed-up wooden boxes at the top of the stack. She spent a little time rummaging, her careful hands sorting through some documents that looked weathered; leather-bound folders with tie-strings that looked similar to what he used when he was a student.

G’raha could only sit and dig wells into his palms while he waited for her to pick out one very specific one. He strained to see the gold emblem, shaped like a balanced scale, that was affixed to the front of the folder. This one, Yolanda carried back to the table, along with some kind of journal, decently thick and worn. The moment he could see that article clearly, he lifted from his seat with a jolt.

“Wait! Why do you have that?!”

It must have been the first time he shouted. Truly shouted, as it was enough to startle the grown woman almost into dropping both documents. She still kept calm, laying them down on the table one by one.

But G’raha didn’t take his eyes off of _that one._ He knew that one, with the tiniest smudge of rolanberry red dye on the front, albeit faded now.

_It was really Lilium’s journal._

“You’ll want to sit down, my friend.” Biggs told him, but he anticipated where he was going with this. With his heart pounding in his ears, G’raha uttered an immediate _“no.”_

The whole thing, like a rampaging animal, was unable to be stopped, and Biggs continued anyway.

“And once you’re seated, you’ll want to find the last entry in that journal.”

Allagan eyes dug deeply into all present, first—at least, those that would look at him. He couldn’t say anything else. He just wanted answers, and those answers laid untouched in writing, just across the table. He could have them if he just obliged, though his body coursed with adrenaline and screamed for him to turn tail and run for the Crystal Tower. To just _turn back._

But he didn’t turn back, all those years ago. He couldn’t turn back now, either.

G’raha’s hand quickly felt for the hint of weight inside his vest, and then steeled himself. With a long, deep release of breath, he sat down and allowed Yolanda to slide the journal across the table to him.

For a time, he only let his hand rest atop Lilium’s journal. When at last he dared to break his promise, he gingerly opened the cover and was met by a rush of emotion at seeing that curling handwriting matching that of the very letter against his breast.

At the start, she prattled about being gifted the journal from her father. The significance of starting a new adventure on her own. A little bit about a childhood friend she had told him about. All things filled with such thoughtfulness, that were so very _Lilium_ that he could hear her talk about them. It was comforting in a way, as hard as it was to believe that she wasn’t at this exact location with him yesterday. Downright _illusory._

It took G’raha time to notice he was smiling, and he wasted time running his fingers along the ink on the paper before any sense of wrongness in his actions settled in.

_‘Trespasser. You left this life behind. Do not linger.’_

His smile gradually left as he leafed through page by page. He didn’t really read the words on the page, just let them float by with as little meaning as possible as he touched the inside of that book. Memorized how it _felt_ instead, and made of it a comfort object.

Three-fourths of the way through grabbing a few pages at a time as he focused on the dates, however, that comfort dwindled. The Warrior of Light left large enough spaces in between entries. The gap only widened with time, with varying lengths of the entries.

Until they just stopped.

G’raha held his breath. There were still several pages to go until she would have filled it. Nonetheless, all the rest were devoid of her thoughts. He flicked back the last page quickly, searched for the date—

“This is-” He swallowed thickly, crimson eyes shooting up at the president. “Why, this is hardly two years after I sealed myself away! But how could that be?! You cannot mean to tell me that these entries stop here because of—!!”

“Black Rose,” Biggs and Yolanda finished in unison. Yolanda finished with, “I am terribly sorry,” but he could already hardly see her through the mist in his eyes. Hadn’t even paid attention to how the former had emptied the contents of the other folder and dared to try and slide something else his way with the exact day, and the words _‘death’_ and _‘deceased’_ used over and over _and over_ in a report. G’raha only wished that he hadn’t seen any more of the author’s cold words used to describe how _‘the Raen woman was found lying motionless among a field of corpses.’_

Several more things were said. G’raha didn’t hear them over the loud thoughts in his head, too impossible to process. He needed to get away from this hellscape and be alone with them.

He got up from his seat and without another thought, bolted for the door before J’mhara could properly seize him.

“Let him go!” Biggs could be heard shouting from down the hallway. “There is nothing out there! There is nowhere to go. When he realizes this, he will return.”

* * *

There were dozens. Hundreds there, taking shelter in the dilapidated outer-shell of Revenant’s Toll. Not just Biggs, or his brightest pupils, or even those he had seen in the halls. Who had filled the settlement from wall to wall with encampments like refugees; squalid, thin, and all wanting for _something_ —saw him go just as likely as they had seen him carried in. And G’raha shoved a number of them out of the way while he sprinted recklessly through the gates.

Judgement had come.

Even with his hood covering his ears and casting a dark shadow over his Allagan Eyes filled with tears, _all knew who he was._ Even after nightfall, with the air pollution thicker than he had ever recalled seeing, G’raha Tia had few secrets that were not laid bare to history. No loved ones’ legacies that were not laid to waste, or so he’d been told.

The nearer he drew to the Crystal tower, the truer _‘death’_ rang. The Singing Shards no longer sang. The once aether-dense crystals that lead through the landscape had gone dark, all save the Crystal Tower itself, in all its mocking glory.

G’raha collapsed to his knees in the place where he remembered the camp to be, and wept in the silence of the barren landscape.

 _He might as well have killed her himself,_ he thought. Though they would have called it a reach. He couldn’t have known what would follow, but did that really matter? A mistake was a mistake.

He reached down inside his vest and snatched the letter from between layers of clothing when he remembered it.

He needed to know. _What other words had he forsaken?_

G’raha spread out the paper on the darkened stone beneath him.

x x x

_[Dear Raha,_

_To be truthful, I don’t know if this letter will ever find you, but I very much hope it does. After thinking on it for a little while, I decided to leave it in the care of Rammbroes rather than with the Scions, in hope that the Sons of Saint Coinach will archive it. It isn’t that I don’t trust the Scions, I just feel sort of uncomfortable about leaving a personal letter among our bookkeeper’s usual documents._

_Okay, perhaps I fear she will lose it! Or someone nosy will read it? Or spill coffee on it? I don’t know! But forgive me, my ramblings are probably not what you wanted to read when you awoke._

_It truly is strange writing to the you in the future, when I know you to be sleeping soundly inside that tower. I look up at it every day, shining like a beacon. That’s what they called you, you know? A “beacon of hope.” How long has it been for you now? How do you feel? Did you dream? Was I there, by chance?_

_I’m actually holding out hope that Cid and his crew will make such great advancements as they promised so I can wake you up and ask you myself. But I feel like I know in my heart that something like that could never happen so quickly. If there’s any chance these words have made it into your hands, I’m probably long gone. But that’s okay. I promise I’ll do my best to live a long and healthy life, and see many things I always wanted to. I hope I can see what you wanted to, as well. The scenery will probably have changed a bit by the time you’re on your feet!_

_Speaking of which, I might have a little point of reference for that. Rammbroes actually let me borrow something of yours - I hope you don’t mind. I’ll see to it that it’s returned to you someday._

_But I should probably mention what I have been up to lately, shouldn’t I?_

_You recall that I was helping the Scions move base from Vesper Bay to Revenant’s Toll? We’re fully settled in now. And not only that, but there are talks of forming our own Grand Company right here in Mor Dhona. It’s really something else, and we are busier than ever. We just need the funding, and some, er… “PR.” Or was it “HR”? They keep looking at me for both, of course. Unbelievable. I don’t even understand logistics! I think Tataru (our secretary) has some ideas by the looks she’s been getting on her face, but this also concerns me. Better me than her, I suppose. In a way, I need the busyness to keep me going. There are a lot of things I don’t want to think about._

_Comet is doing good, by the way. Thanks to another of the Scions bumping into a regular at the Seventh Heaven, I’ve found him another trainer at the stables here, so he shouldn’t have any more accidents. I thought you might want to know, since he liked you so much. I don’t know exactly how intelligent he is sometimes when I watch him eat a bug or two, but he warks a certain way whenever we ride near the base of the Crystal Tower, so I wonder if he senses that you’re not coming back as well…?_

_You know, it took me a while to be able to put something down like this at all. I didn’t expect you to do what you did, and even though I reassured you, I was sort of at odds with it for awhile. There was something I never told you. I still feel a knot in my throat when someone mentions your name. Or when I look at the tower. I forgive you, of course. I believe you did the right thing, but it was still difficult to lose you. I miss you, Raha... and I can almost hear you poking fun at me because, yes, it has only been a month and some moons since you went to sleep! I just didn’t want you to think I was the kind of adventurer that sees another pretty landscape, or reaches some milestone and forgets everyone before her. I haven’t forgotten the argument we had where I said all those things that I didn’t mean (I’m still sorry). But I had to say something now, even if this is absolute chocobo-scratch._

_So you know, I’ll never forget you. So don’t forget me, okay? I don’t know when I’ll write again, but in case free time is a thing of the past for me, remember this._

_I pray that destiny is kind to you in the future, and that you get everything you wanted. And please don’t be too reckless without me._

_Sincerely,_

_Your unlucky friend,_

_Lilium]_

x x x

Barely able to stop himself from ruining the paper with stains, G’raha choked back a sob.

 _“‘Unlucky’…_ Yes, you were the unluckiest of all… such was the price you paid for entrusting the future to me.” The Miqo’te brought his fist down on the gravel, uncaring of the sharp stones that pierced his skin.

He could recall the fall she took for him, the battle she fought on his behalf, and the tears she shed for him when he could no longer cry about his past. All of their little touches, both friendly and accidental—and some vague romantic gestures on his part that once tingled on his skin, just left a sorrowful ache when he remembered them now.

It just wasn’t _fair._

“I could have used my gift to help you! I could have used it to save you!! If I had just been there—!”

A pair of footsteps scuffing the ground startled him in his pitiful state. G’raha’s ears stood up and back in shock as he had prepared to be attacked, but instead aimlessly swiped at the air in front of J’mhara and rolled helplessly onto his backside.

“There’s a chance you can still do that.” The man said, furrowing his brows as he heaved a sigh, then dropped to a crouch beside him.

G’raha regarded him with about as little credit as his peers seemed to. He paid the younger a dark chuckle.

“Do not play me for a fool.” He betrayed his exact feelings of himself, adding: “Your comrades described the state of the world very clearly, and now I have seen it with my own eyes. Though I believe you may have said it better, my friend-”

G’raha casted his bleary eyes up at the glowing tower, surrounded by naught but doom and gloom. A scar of a landscape, given grace only by the moon sifting through dark clouds.

_“‘Fucked.’”_

A time passed, and he expected to be harangued. Gave into an eventuality that J’mhara would grab him by his hood and see to it that he faced whatever fool’s errand the future of the Ironworks had set their sights on. And whether or not he could find the strength to overcome the picture of death that that text had put in his mind—of his inspiration lying cold in a battlefield ditch—he would ultimately give into whatever they asked.

It was the least he could do, for quite possibly having set all of this in motion. For the people’s lives who had been destroyed… he could at least offer his own.

“Hm. And they say I’m the one that doesn’t listen.”

“Huh?" By now, G’raha was carefully folding up Lilium’s letter and putting it back inside the envelope while moon-like eyes followed.

J’mhara didn’t answer for a while, only staring out into the distance at the tower.

“I found it hard to believe in that fairytale shite.”

When he finally spoke, low and morose, G’raha’s tail lifted in surprise. When he realized he had gestured with the tip of his head toward the envelope, he quickly angered.

“The Warrior of Light,” He clarified, and G’raha gritted his teeth and suppressed a desire to say something ugly.

But it wasn’t J’mhara’s fault.

“...Not fairytales,” G’raha corrected, hushed. “No fairytale I ever dreamed about as a child ended this way.”

Wordlessly, the half-Seeker pressed an object of some sort into G’raha’s side that he didn’t immediately accept or even look at. When he did rub his eyes and look, there was some series of tomestone, the likes of which he hadn’t seen before… _the calamity,_ he supposed.

“And you’re not going to tell me what’s on this, are you?” He mimicked the other Miqo’te with a tick up of his lips, and found his company amused. “You’re bribing me with relics?”

“Call it a piece of my mind.” He commented, and let G’raha take it with no other quips before standing. When red eyes that were redder-still around the edges questioned him like a lost cat, J’mhara added, “Data.”

“Data?”

“Chock full of it, from your friend’s adventure.” Ears moved. “And something very specific, too. You can take that, and go back to the base when it suits you. Or if you think we’re a lost cause, you can toss it. But the chief wanted to tell you that… you have the power to choose. It’s your choice.”

In the other Miqo’te’s shadow, G’raha held the tomestone and turned it over, feeling its cold metal design of black and blue. Eventually, he found the mark of the Ironworks embedded with his thumb, and was even more perplexed. The concept of a _manufactured_ tomestone escaped him. Or how it had anything at all to do with Lilium.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

And how could he be the one to make another choice like this? There was so much to learn, and for what? He still didn’t quite understand where he fit in, in all of this. G’raha had a feeling he was about to find out.

The brunette pointed a finger at him, still on the ground.

“That’s the difference between you and me, you know? You think it hurts that your loved ones died while you laid limper than a drowned wench inside millions of tonzes of crystal. You were safe from all of it. You didn’t suffer. My family? My brother, my sister- died in a mine shaft digging for raw materials. Not for survival, but for things we needed to pull your sorry arse out of there. Our families died for believing in something, and we can do exactly _nothing_ about it. But this ‘Warrior’ of yours… and with your tower… Well. We just might be able to turn back time.” He added, before G’raha could trip on the whole of his statement. “If it’s impossible, you can let it go. And we can just live out our days in relative peace.”

While G’raha sat on his knees in stupefied silence, J’mhara turned, then looked back over the shoulder of his worn vest.

“If it was up to me instead?” He hung in the silence as well with his mouth open, a pensive look fixated on the tower keeper with one mismatched eye. Where G’raha had once felt animosity (and still did in smaller measures), there was now a hint of pity. _Pain,_ in ways even he couldn’t understand with his history of it.

The brunette clicked his tongue, then. “Doesn’t matter.”

He walked away, and left G’raha on the ground holding the fate of the world in his hands a second time.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU for reading!
> 
> This is left a little open and while it is marked as 1 chapter Completed, I MAY add another in the future. There was a lot more I came up with to do with character backgrounds, what happened to Lily, what I had in mind for the tomestone, etc! I just wanted it to be complete on its own and not have a foreboding red Incomplete mark in case I never end up expanding on this.  
> This whole thing might suck, I don't know! Let me know if it didn't suck I guess!! If it did, tbh I would rather you didn't say anything bc it took a LOT for me to finish this. :'^)
> 
> You can find me on twitter @cactwerk !


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